


A Kick in the Head

by GreenVeal



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Ambiguous map/setting, Dark Humor, Gen, Morbid, Slice of Life, semi accurate descriptions of dust storms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:15:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,119
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25300702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreenVeal/pseuds/GreenVeal
Summary: Miss Pauling has a very normal work day, despite the massive sandstorm, technical malfunctions, and interpersonal drama happening around her.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 32





	1. The Sand and the Fury

Her work began at an ungodly hour, after midnight, but long before the sun was scheduled to rise. It was also long before any reasonable human being was scheduled to rise. Funny how those things work. Bad weather, however, did not give a damn about the time of day. A massive dust storm was sweeping through the county. The squall was fierce enough that its caterwauling could be heard twenty feet underground. In fact, it seemed to be doing a real number on the building, an alarm was going off overhead. 

Even downstairs, far beneath the storm, things were going haywire. The fax machine had broken in some incomprehensible way, and now it only printed mirrored text. It seemed the elevator was broken too. Not a problem, she could easily take the stairs up to the garage.

Overall, Miss Pauling had gotten off to worse starts. The coffee machine had worked fine. Nothing had imploded into itself, yet. The garage was not on fire. Furthermore, her hitlist, while backwards, was still technically legible. 

When she reached her truck, she taped the docket to the back window so she could peruse it through the rear view mirror. She felt rather proud of her problem solving.

The list itself was pleasantly sparse- the leader of a flypaper smuggling ring, the entire advertising branch of a cigarette manufacturer, and a PI named Louie Shoe. There was an additional note at the bottom of the paper. “Due to meteorological occurrences, Dell Conagher has been sent details regarding your assignment. Use teleport on location.”

How convenient. She wondered why this wasn’t the standard method, then realized she probably didn’t want to know the answer to that question. 

Once she was ready, she double checked all of the truck’s windows, just to be certain they were rolled up. Fuel on full, seatbelt on, the in-vehicle listening devices were all functional. Everything seemed ready to go. 

She reached for her remote and opened the garage door with the push of a button; remaining relatively unfrazzled as a wave of airborne sand gushed in through the new opening. A chorus of car alarms announced her departure. 

Miss Pauling did not envy whoever would be using this garage after her.

She drove slowly, taking in the absolute hullabaloo around her. Flashing red lights illuminated the scene. Under normal circumstances, a series of sandstone colored tarps and optical illusions would have camouflaged the exit. In the moment, it looked as if a chunk of Toronto multi level parking had been shoved into the middle of the Chihuahuan Desert.

After that display, the road itself was plain boring. Probably for the best, considering that just driving in a straight line required her undivided attention. At least the fog lines were taking her down a familiar path.

It only took her fifteen minutes to reach RED’s current base, but it was a grueling quarter-hour. The vehicle rattled with every strong gust of sand. At one point, her left headlight had gone out, only to flicker back to life when something struck the truck’s flank. Armoured trucks, fortified as they might be, are not built with sandstorms in mind. At multiple points throughout her drive, Miss Pauling worried the sheer weight of the thing wouldn’t be enough to keep it off its side. 

When she finally pulled into her destination, she found herself with a new problem. She had no idea how to actually get inside

She sat in the truck for a moment, staring into the black, sand-filled air outside. With a mild sense of dread she closed her eyes and sighed, then she braced herself. Deep breath- glasses off- she shifted into position. 

The door popped open with a twist of the handle, and she darted into the pitch of night. What should have been as simple as moving in a straight line became a horrible struggle. 

She ran the distance with one hand outstretched. It couldn’t have taken longer than ten seconds for her to make her way across the parking lot, but it was absolutely ten seconds too long. When her arm made contact with a solid wooden surface, it felt like she’d just rediscovered shangri-la. 

After making contact, she blindly clambered against the wall until she came across a door. It was locked. The constant barrage of sand kept her from opening her mouth, so she thumped furiously on the hardwood. Banging and pounding in the hope that someone could hear her over the roaring wind.

This whole situation was beginning to tee her off.

Without warning, the door opened, and Miss Pauling unceremoniously fell forwards onto the wooden flooring. She could feel a pair of gloved rubber hands dusting sand off of her shoulders.

After catching her breath, she fished her glasses out of her pocket and put them back on. The first thing she saw were neon pink socks, all decked out with embroidered hearts. Said socks connected to a heavy-duty flame retardant suit, which was in turn attached to a ominous but familiar gas mask.

“Hrrlrr” Pyro greeted.

“Hello,” She replied. “I’m- er- looking for Engie. It’s important.” 

“Urh! Mrrphs mmph thrr rsprnn brrgph, F-lrr mrr!” 

Muffled and bungled as their voice was, Mrs. Pauling got the gist of what they were saying. When Pyro started to lead the way, she followed.

“Nice socks.” She offered as the two of them headed down a narrow hallway.

“Thrrnk yrr! Mm-phrr mrd thhrm frr mrrph!”

All Miss Pauling actually understood were the words ‘thank you’ and a joyful tone of voice. Regardless, her compliment had been successful. Pyro’s glee was simultaneously intimidating and infectious.

Not long after that, they reached the end of the hallway and turned to a dimly lit flight of stairs. Almost on cue, a dull thud rang out overhead.

“Err’s thrrs wrrr!” Pyro stated, gesticulating at the handrail before heading upstairs. 

While making her way up, Miss Pauling heard more voices. There seemed to be a ruckus of some sort going on- not a surprise. 

“Ye’know lad, you are beckoning for a reckoning right now, it’s four in the bloody mornin’!” That was Demo.

“Well maybe I wouldn’t be awake if you weren’t snoring like a lawnmower on tha’ freakin’ couch!” And that was Scout.

Miss Pauling noted the time of day, which lined up perfectly with her schedule. Before she could process anything else about the argument, Pyro interrupted her thoughts by loudly announcing her presence to the room.

“Err’s Mrrph Prrl-ng!” They chimed.

There was a brief beat of silence as she stood by the mouth of the stairwell. 

“It’s work, I’m just passing through.” She explained.

Demo reacted before Scout. “Yeesh- in this weather? Guess th’ devil never sleeps- dae she?”

“That’s actually why I’m here- not to sleep- I mean the weather. I’m here to use a teleporter.” She pulled her hitlist out from her pocket and waved it rather like a permission slip. 

“Er’mph srrng hrr thrr wrr’” Pyro added, before eagerly pointing to a wooden door.

As they eagerly lead the way, Scout made a strangled sort of noise. 

Miss Pauling turned back to face him. They made eye contact and nothing else happened. She turned back around, letting any residual awkwardness slide off her back like water off a duck. 

Pyro opened the door ahead of her, saying something entirely incomprehensible as she passed. Eventually they came to a place where battered wooden flooring gave way to filthy linoleum.

She’d never actually been inside of any of the respawn rooms before, and she was surprised to see it looking like a perfectly normal locker room. Pyro flicked a switch on the wall and the veneer of normalcy broke. A secret hatch opened up from the floor, revealing bizarre mechanisms and a steel ladder.

“Err’s drrn thrrr.”

It was, indeed, down there. Beneath the unassuming respawn room, and beneath an enormous mass of humming machinery, there was something like a bunker, part laboratory and part bedroom.

One half of the space was occupied by all sorts of unusual gadgetry, strange objects that would have looked perfectly at home in an alien spacecraft. Alongside the more science-fiction technology, there was a sizable stash of military grade weaponry. 

On the other side of the room there was a dresser, a record player, and a small cot. The cot was occupied. A short, broad shouldered man with a five-o-clock shadow was sleeping on the canvas bed. Or maybe he wasn’t asleep, the protective goggles on his face made it hard to tell.

For a brief moment Miss Pauling waited for the Engineer to stir, when he did not, she searched for the teleporter on her own. 

She had a good idea of what she was looking for. Something flat, sort of shaped like the blades of a blender, and no wider than a man’s shoulders. It didn’t take her long to find the device sitting in a corner, offline- Miss Pauling realized she had no idea how to set it up, she didn’t even know how to turn it on.

Reluctantly, she shuffled up to Engie’s cotside and knocked on the nightstand. She was met with a wordless “Hrmm?”

“Hey- It’s Pauling. I’m here to use the teleporter.”

Dell Conagher sat upright in his cot, then rubbed his temples. “And a good mornin’ t’ you too missy.” 

He reached beneath his bedstead, grabbed a yellow hard hat, and set it on his head. Mrs. Pauling hoped it wasn’t a necessary precaution.

She wasn’t sure how to react when Engie strolled right up to the teleporter and kicked it. The thing sprung to life at the first sign of percussive maintenance, its ‘blades’ began to spin, speeding up until they formed a solid disk of light. 

“There ya go, s’already been configured for you, just hop back on when you’re done and I’ll have your next contract ready in a jiffy.” He gestured towards the machine as he spoke, and Miss Pauling took the hint and stepped onto the hard light platform.

“Thank you so-“ She was cut off by the soft ‘vvorp’ of the teleporter as it relocated her. For some reason she hadn’t expected the process to be so automatic. 

Now she was standing alone in a storage closet, solely illuminated by the disk beneath her. 

She had a vague idea of where she was. Near where she was supposed to be. Somewhere fairly discreet. Probably in someone’s house.

With feline grace, she weaved her way through the various household cleaning supplies around her. Her hitlist hadn’t been specific about locations, but it figured she’d been landed somewhere in the house of her first target. Flypaper smuggler, fellow career criminal, and noted cheapskate: Adrian Loi. 

It was the cheapness that had done him in, actually. For some questionable reason, Mann Co had ordered a metric boatload of illicit flypaper. Probably because this particular, brand of ‘banned in the USA and Canada’ flypaper was highly explosive. 

Of course, Mr. Loi had to screw himself over by hiking the price through the nose at the last minute. Now she had to send his ring a message: the cost of sticky C4 does not compare to the price of crossing her employer.

As she mulled it over, she began to take note of her surroundings. It was definitely a home of some sort, but an absolutely massive one. She slipped through arched hallways and branching foyers, eventually coming face to face with a series of detailed oil paintings. Each likeness hung over a brass plaque, and each plaque displayed a name.

‘Raymond Jay’

‘Fredrick Jay’

‘Johnson James Jay’

‘Lara Jay-Loi’

And finally:

“Adrian Loi”

She was in the target’s private mansion.

How on earth had the teleporter been placed here? Miss Pauling had to ask herslf if she’d seriously underestimated the Engineer’s capabilities. She’d certainly held the man in high regard before- but- how on earth? 

It was a question for another time. Most likely not a time in the foreseeable future. Impressed as she was, she had work to do. 

Thusly, she did her job.

The purpose of the hit required a body, so there was a body. It seemed necessary to leave a calling card. Something that would make the reason behind the killing obvious to the members of Loi’s ring, but not something that could be used as evidence in a court of law. Then she remembered the teleporter in the closet. It was hardly suspicious, but it was branded.

Before she left, she brought the machine out into the hallway, carefully wiped it of fingerprints, and stepped onto its platform.

When she reappeared in the underbelly of RED’s base- she found herself alone.


	2. Birdbrained

It stood to reason that the Engineer had simply woken up and left his quarters. His cot sat empty, and the various machines strewn about the room were untouched. 

Under ideal circumstances, Miss Pauling would have been perfectly happy to leave the man to his leisure. Unfortunately, she was no closer to understanding proper teleporter operation than she was the first time she’d needed a relocation. As much as she didn’t want to be a nuisance, it was preferable to being atomized, irradiated, or meeting with whatever other horrible end might befall her if she slapped one of Dell Conagher’s inventions in the wrong spot.

Thus, she had to ask for help. 

She made her way back up the ladder, passing through the underbelly of the same massive contraption she’d seen on her way in. It seemed more active this time around, humming a bit louder while its lights flashed with more frequency. 

When Miss Pauling surfaced in the respawn room she smelled something awful; like burnt hair mixed with snake musk. What sort of horrible thing could make both of those smells at once? 

Best case scenario, Pyro had changed out of their suit.

Highly unlikely.

There was a clatter from somewhere in the building. With a sigh, Miss Pauling drew her pistol. She pulled the door open quietly and crept onto the hardwood. Then she just about misfired when she heard a chipper voice beside her.

“V’onderfull news Miss Pauling, Scout’s been turned into a bird-man!”

She immediately recognized the Medic’s voice, and that made processing his words slightly easier. In theory, it wasn’t that complex a concept, but in practice she had a good five seconds before she fully comprehended what she was being told.

“Uh, interesting- how exactly did that happen?” She finally managed, maintaining polite eye contact as she put her gun back in its holster.

“First, he v’ent outside, as a direct result of dat he came back through respawn, but it turned out a roadrunner was hiding in one of de processor turbines.”

“Oh.“ After taking that in, Miss Pauling dared to ask for more information. “So it fused Scout and the bird together?”

“No, not like dat. I don’t really know quite how it works. Dis really isn’t my field of expertise- however, I v’ill soon amend dat.” In the wake of that statement, Medic walked off, quite eager to do something- probably something unspeakable.

By the time Miss Pauling remembered to ask where Engie was, he was already long gone. It didn’t really matter, based off what she’d just heard he was probably preoccupied. 

She checked her watch.

A loud yelp could be heard from the neighboring room, followed by all sorts of incoherent yelling. 

The deep-set human spirit of inquiry brought her towards the sound of screaming. She found a group of seven all hanging around the source of the ruckus. 

She stood back and watched things unfold.

“Oh I don’t think so- not again you don’t. You are keepin’ those rusty pliers away from my face!” Apparently Scout’s predicament had no effect on his ability to speak. He pulled away from the crowd, and Miss Pauling had to stifle a laugh.

She’d seen birdmen before, at work, in the newspaper, running across the road in the middle of the night. In fact, she’d seen all sorts of grisly hybrids, but nothing quite like this.

The top of his head was that of a perfectly normal Greater Roadrunner, attached to a perfectly normal human mouth and jaw. It sort of looked like a living carnivale mask. One arm was fine, the other was a five fingered bird’s foot, fused to a semi-twisted wing. Dark scales peeked out from the top of one sock.

Miss Pauling could pinpoint the exact moment Scout noticed her presence. 

He had balked when he saw her, and spotted brown feathers stood out in every direction. Medic took the opportunity to pluck a feather from Scouts arm.

“The respawn room did this?” She asked, half rhetorically and half because it was the only thing she could think to say.

It came as a mild surprise when Heavy piped up with a response and an explanation. He was sitting in the corner of the room, eating, reading, and looking rather disinterested in the happenings around him. “Да, it’s like, meat printer- if you can picture such thing”

She elected not to picture it. 

“This printer uses ink like recipe, and makes meat out of nothing. There is bird in the ink, so boom, it prints with bird instead of meat.”

“Ah, thank you. That- makes more sense than I thought it would.” 

“No pro’blem.” Heavy replied, and Miss Pauling realized that he should be her go-to explainer from this point onwards. 

Behind her, the racket continued. Apparently Scout and Demo’s morning argument had not died down yet.

“Oh don’chu start laughin’ at me- this is all your fault y’know.”

“Ayyye, aye see now, ye’re blaming me for your own-“

“That’s right!” Scout interrupted. “This can all be traced back to your snorin’!”

Willfully ignoring their bickering, Miss Pauling scanned the room for the Engineer. She counted seven heads in total, and then did a double take to find Spy. This left her with everyone accounted for, save for the one person she was looking for.

She turned back to Heavy. “Do you know where Engie is?”

“Inside of machine, checking things. If things are good, Scout goes back, machine fix him.”

Miss Pauling rubbed her temples and wiped her glasses off on her blouse. She hadn’t seen any sign of Engie when she’d made her way up the ladder only ten minutes ago. “Where is ‘in the machine’?”

Heavy shrugged. “Could be anywhere. It would be best if you wait for Engineer.”

She checked her watch again, then quietly thanked the stars she’d gotten her first job done so quickly. She had some time to waste. Might as well sit back and watch the show. Without really thinking about it, she found herself flopping down on the sofa beside Heavy. 

She did not intend to fall asleep, but her intent didn’t really matter, she had woken up at one in the morning.

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was that someone had given her a blanket and a pillow. The second thing she noticed was the fact that something had cleared the room out while she slept. Now she was alone in the room, save for Soldier, who was crouching atop the coffee table for some reason.

“Respawn Is Fixed. ‘Thought you would like to know.” He announced.

She could still hear the sandstorm audibly raging outside, so she couldn’t have been asleep for long.

“What happened to Scout?”

“He Has A Plan.”

Before Miss Pauling could really assess whatever that meant, she heard a metallic rattle. Then, as if on cue, she heard Scout’s voice.

“‘Ey, up here, guys look, i’mma stock market!”

Then she heard a wet, crunchy splat- like a dodgeball hitting a steak- followed by one man clapping. 

“Hmm.” She finally said.

“I Am Not Cleaning That Up.” Soldier stated.

Miss Pauling wondered if she should get herself hooked up to the respawn system- her sense of morbid curiosity had officially been piqued. She ultimately decided against it. If her job had taught her one thing, it was that she did not want to become immortal, even if it was technically temporary.

“Where’s Engie?”

“In His Bunker. I think he is inventing anti-roadrunner technology.”

-

By the time Miss Pauling made her way down, everything had been preemptively set up for her. The efficiency was appreciated, especially considering the amount of work she had laid out for her.

It was ridiculous, that the Administrator would have her wipe out the advertising branch of a cigarette manufacturer for the simple crime of making unfunny adverts. But of course, this was ‘her brand’, and she seemed to take it quite personally.

The teleporter sent Miss Pauling to an unlit locker room. She mulled over her surroundings and began to formulate a plan. One of the lockers was open, inside she found a laminated ID badge, alongside a dark green, foam padded dragon outfit.

Somehow, the rank scent of the unwashed mascot costume was infinitely worse than the smell of the respawn malfunction.

The moment she put the costume on, Miss Pauling understood the Administrator’s rage.

She waddled through the crowd of stodgy marketers, taking note of little details. The number of exits. The ventilation shafts. The two security guards. 

It wasn’t long before she found a very useful flier. 

‘Warm, steamy, nicotine gas!’ It read. ‘The cigarette of the future!’ Then, in much smaller print. ‘Consume only in small doses.’

She immediately tracked down a few oversized canisters of the gas. Along the way she posed for a few undignified pictures. During one photo, she snagged a keychain off the belt loop of one rather dull executive.

After heavy application of elbow grease and duct tape, the canisters had been hooked up to the air conditioner. Before things could really get started, she parked a large company car in front of the main exit.

Then she waited- In the hot sun- wearing a goofy dragon costume. It was preferable to her time spent outside in the sandstorm.

Finally, she did the cleanup. Or at least, she did the best cleanup job anyone possibly could without using every disinfectant wipe in Texas. But the bodies were gone, and the trail would be cold, so her work here was done.

Once she filled up the final hole, she stepped back onto the teleporter. Engie deftly destroyed it with his shotgun once she was back at base.

She’d forgotten she was still wearing the dragon costume.

-

“Y’know, I think you should leave it here for Pyro, I’m sure they’d get a real hoot outta’ it.” Engie reccomended.

So Miss Pauling did just that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know that one Leyendecker painting with the woman wearing an oversized dragon suit.... Yea.


	3. Longshot

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This whole chapter is all buildup to one joke.   
> I really hope the punchline lands.

The storm had dissipated in the time she’d been gone. It was quiet outside, and the dust lay still on the pavement. Now that the sky was visible again, most of the mercenaries had headed for home. 

RED base looked abandoned, save for the tire tracks and beer bottles left in the sand. Ideally, it would have looked all the way abandoned, but that facade simply couldn’t be maintained when there was an unruly human element at play.

Miss Pauling tidied up the mess anyway. It gave her some time to consider the last character on her hitlist. One ‘Louie Shoe’ a private investigator who seemed unusually invested in Mann. Co’s inner workings. He was sloppy though, lazy even, never covering up his own tracks. He was scheduled to investigate this exact location later in the day. All Miss Pauling had to do was wait. 

She found a comfortable spot in the shade of her truck, leaned back, and let her quarry come to her.

Fence lizards scampered about the ground, occasionally stopping to assert their dominance with a display of push ups. She briefly considered attempting to catch one, then dismissed the thought. The lizards continued their push ups, undisturbed.

In the meantime, Miss Pauling paced back and forth in her little patch of shade. She yawned. She tapped her foot on the sand-covered pavement. She did a great deal of sweating. 

She was glancing down at her watch when she heard a loud ‘thunk’ coming from the other side of the barn.

Good news, if that was Mr. Shoe, he was early. Bad news, it sounded like he was loading something onto the bed of a pickup truck. If the detective was already packing up evidence he must have been hanging around for a while. How had she not heard him sooner?

Miss Pauling drew her pistol and slipped a silencer over its muzzle, carefully approaching the source of the clatter. She carefully rounded a corner, mentally preparing herself for a worst case scenario. Once she saw what was actually going on she deflated a bit.

Spy and Demo, loading a company vehicle with copious amounts of vodka and other hard liquors.

She announced her presence with a cough. Both men immediately stopped their work, glancing at their cargo and then back to her. 

Spy was glowering at Demo, brows furrowed. “You z’ee. Too loud.”

“Awh ‘fer the love of Pete, what are ye tryna hide?” The moment after Demo finished speaking, he sighed, already aware how pointless his question really was. 

“I’em z’imply trying to preserve z’ome z’ense of dignity.”

“Dignity? Have fun with that, if I cared abou’ dignity I wouldnae be here would I? Maybe consider that? Y’know.” He opened a bottle of rum as he spoke, and punctuated his statement with a long swig.

Miss Pauling was charmed. “Would you two like some help with that? I‘ll be waiting here a while, I’m waiting for someone- else- right now.”

She didn’t wait for a reply, instead she stepped forward and started packing alcohol onto the truck bed. With all three of them working together, they finished up in a matter of minutes. 

Demo briefly thanked her for the help before starting the vehicle and hauling his spoils off into the midday sun. 

Spy had vanished with him. At no point did Miss Pauling actually see Spy get into the truck, but he had disappeared- which logically meant that the man could be absolutely anywhere. She took his absence at face value, maybe out of some feeling of trust, or maybe because she had more important work to do.

It was hard to tell which was a more ridiculous prospect, catching lizards or looking over her shoulder for an invisible man.

Miss Pauling eventually retreated back to the shade. There she scrutinized the terrain around her, looking for good cover in the case of a shootout.

She was mulling over unpacking the quicklime from the back of her truck when she spotted a small beige sedan on the horizon. It was swerving from one side of the road to the other, slowing down and speeding up irregularly. Miss Pauling wondered if Demo had somehow returned ten minutes later, driving a different car, ready to replace the liquor he’d finished at an ungodly pace. 

It sounded impossible, but wasn’t confident enough in her understanding of ‘impossible’ to completely rule out the possibility. Out of caution, she slipped out of sight as the car approached. It careened over a curb before finally parking on a completely random spot. A man stepped out, frazzled and unkempt.

Miss Pauling recognized him based off the description on her list. This was Det. Shoe, looking severely under the weather. A bit sickly really. Even with the stereotypical hat and suit, the man looked more like a washed up comedian than a detective.

She stepped out from the shadows and levied her sights at Shoe’s head. He responded with a beaming smile. “Oh am I glad to see you! Wait- don’t shoot me down just yet. I have an idea! What if I fake my death?”

“I don’t think I’m even allowed to discuss a topic like that.” 

“Alright then.” Det. Shoe said plainly. “Get it over with. As they say- Fire away.”

For the second time, Miss Pauling lined up her sights. Before she fired, a mechanical hiss broke the silence. It took a concerted effort not to roll her eyes.

Spy decloaked, immediately sprinting into action, holding the detective still as he pressed a blade to his throat. 

For his part, Shoe was completely nonplused. “Okay fine, I guess you have a go at me then.” He said.

There was a moment of confused silence as Miss Pauling and Spy made eye contact. The quiet was long enough for both of them to reach an unspoken conclusion. ‘this guy is obviously up to something’.

“Okay, what’s your plan?” Miss Pauling asked.

Shoe’s eyes darted between both of his prospective killers. “Hmm, well if it’s not obvious I’m trying to take the cowards way out. Whatever that might be- You guys know I’m still open to that whole faking my death thing.”

“And why do you want to be dead?” Spy sounded both annoyed and curious. 

“Oh I’m sure a pair of hardened killers like you two know the drill, money issues, guys coming after me due to money issues. Figured I’d get it done professionally, certainly seems better than what the other guys have planned for me.”

It didn’t seem like a joke, or at least, not an intentional one. 

“So you’re not actually investigating Mann.co’s connections to war profiteering?”

“Not really, I mean everyone knows something shady’s going on here. I’d just rather take a bullet to the back of the head than, y’know, getting my fingers broken one by one and all that.”

Spy and Pauling exchanged another meaningful look, this one more incredulous than the last. With a groan, Spy stepped away from Det. Shoe. He pinched the bridge of his nose and averted his eyes when the PI fell face first onto the sand.

Louie Shoe was talking again before he’d even fully righted himself. “Okay, so if you guys are going through with the whole faking my death thing, keep in mind that I have no idea how any of this works. So I hate to say it but-“

The man was cut off mid-sentence as his head exploded. 

“Was ‘e bothering you?” Sniper yelled out from fifteen meters away. He was standing atop a massive rocky outcropping, waving at the people below. 

Miss Pauling was about to yell a response when she felt a dark cloud beside her. She turned to face Spy, who was visibly furious. It was obvious why. The front of his suit had been splattered, and some spots of dark red had made their way onto his balaclava. 

It would have been a horrible time to laugh, so Miss Pauling forced herself to keep a straight face. 

“Thanks for the help!” She yelled. “Both of you.”

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t know if I can write comedy, but by Jove I’m gonna fucking try.
> 
> Comments and critique welcome.


End file.
